


Red Threads

by Pagedancer87



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Molly Hooper Appreciation Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 00:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16006253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pagedancer87/pseuds/Pagedancer87
Summary: Requested by: UkthxbyeSummary: Undercover as a married couple, Sherlock and Molly take the opportunity to finally talk.





	Red Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ukthxbye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukthxbye/gifts).



> Many thanks to my amazing friend @duckpotatodandelion for beta reading.

 

 

Molly stared at the ring on her finger. It was very different from the one Tom had given her, an engagement ring.  Its silver band, with modest diamond raised atop a row of smaller diamonds, had been elegant. Beautiful, without being ornate. Secretly though, she’d often thought it didn’t suit her, and it sat a little too loosely on her finger.

 

The one there now, the one Sherlock had so casually handed her to slip on, came something of a surprise. She could hardly take her eyes of it. The silver band split away from the simple but exquisite aquamarine stone and intertwined around her finger like a ribbon, while several accent stones were set in a curve on either side of the center. Not only was it so beautiful she could cry, but it fit her perfectly. She could almost believe that it was actually chosen with her in mind, rather than just another prop for a case.

 

It had been nearly a year since the ominous phone call. After the initial debrief with Mycroft and John, and after her flat had been combed for cameras and explosives, it had never been brought up again. Whatever she’d thought he meant, or whatever she thought she’d heard in his voice, it was either too much for her to hope for, or something he wasn’t ready to face. From the way he still barged into her morgue, commandeered the lab, and coaxed body parts to experiment on from her, she could almost believe nothing had changed.

Then came this case, the request to investigate having come from Mycroft, since it had begun with the death of someone connected to a government official.  

 

While the death itself seemed straightforward (poison in his evening whiskey, no  _ obvious _ signs of foul play, but circumstances too suspicious to write off as suicide), it lead to a string of unsolved murders over the following several months, with not only the same poison but the same odd signature: a small red X beneath the fourth finger of the left hand. So far, the victims had all been men, and all had gone to the same couples’ therapist prior to their death. 

 

Since John and Mary were both still in recovery, and had Rosie tend to, Sherlock had asked Molly to assist him.  By posing as his wife.

 

_ “Are you sure about this, Molly?” John asked, as Mary helped her pick out what she would wear (something she was comfortable in but more in line with  _ socialite wife _ than what she usual wore).  _

 

_ “Bit late for second thoughts isn’t it? You read his file. He may be a despicable serial killer, but he can spot an undercover officer right off.” It was part of why they had so much trouble catching him, and why they brought in Sherlock. As it was, they were both going in disguise (slicked back hair piece for him and glasses for her.)  _

 

_ “Well, yes but-” _

 

_ “I know. We probably look like an odd match, don’t we?” she said, giving a wan smile. _

 

_ “It’s not that.” John assured her. “It’s just that he tends to get tunnel vision when he’s on a case. As thoughtless as he is on a regular basis, I can’t imagine what he’ll say-” He stopped on a sigh. “He’ll do and say whatever he thinks will expose the killer, it won’t even occur to him if he’s said anything hurtful until much later, if at all.” _

 

_ “Now, John,” Mary protested, “He’s gotten much better. Hasn’t he Molly?” _

 

_ He actually had. Since his return there had been a marked difference on how he treated those in his circle. He was… nicer. Not so quick to dismiss an opinion or throw out rude deductions. She thought maybe he was especially gentler with her because of her role in his fall. _

__

_ “What’s important is making sure that a killer is stopped and put away. I’ll be fine.” _

 

_ She knew she could never really stop loving Sherlock, and had given up trying, but a decision had to be made. She’d sat at this impasse for too long: shut the door or keep waiting. She only hoped she would have the resolve to follow through.  _

 

The suspect, a psychiatrist called Huxley, greeted them at the door of his office and ushered them in. Hanging their coats on the hooks above his door (each carrying a small device that would clone the contents of his phone, computer and all other devices on the premises to be reviewed for evidence) they both took a seat on opposite ends of a leather sofa. 

 

“Will and Molly Smith? Lovely to meet you both in person, at last.” They had spent the last several weeks exchanging emails, mostly answering questions, adding in key details designed to lead Huxley to an assessment that would  paint their marriage troubles along the same lines as those of the other victims’. Today’s session was to discuss their tailored therapy plan, and supposedly suss out the underlying cause of their marital problems. 

 

“May I offer you anything to drink? I have water, tea, coffee and fizzy drinks.” He gestured toward the mini-fridge that sat by his desk, next to a tea cart.

 

They both politely declined, but Sherlock made a mental note to investigate its contents later as a possible source for the poison ingested by the victims.

 

Huxley  sat at his desk, facing them with a pencil and pad of paper in his hand. “Normally, I’d ask if you’d mind if I recorded this session, but I think I’ll leave that for another day.” His kindly face suddenly sharpened into a neutral yet slightly suspicious expression. “In the pages of correspondence I’ve exchanged with you, there is one detail that makes me curious. Love is, for most, the cornerstone upon which a marriage is built. It’s what people are fighting for, or still clinging to, or evening lying about, when they contact me.  But you two seem to be enigmas. Neither of you has once mentioned your love for the other. Not once.”

 

Sherlock hesitated as part of the act, to appear as though he was wrestling with introspection, rather than simply waiting for the appropriate amount of silence to pass before unloading a reply he’d formulated from to the research he’d done on couples in distress.  In that delay for perfect timing, Molly preempted his response by releasing a great sigh. 

 

“Because sometimes love just isn’t enough, is it?” she said, then sighed again. Both men focused on her as she gave Huxley a wary smile. “You’ve noted how terribly one-sided our relationship is, haven’t you?”

 

At his nod, she continued. “It’s always been this way. His work is important to him, and I’m glad to be of help.”

 

“He’s a biochemist connected to the hospital where you work, is that right, Molly?”

 

She nodded. “Yes. I find it gratifying that he values my skills enough to include me.  And to some extent, I enjoy the challenge of the mystery he comes with.” 

 

“But?” 

 

“But it’s always about what he needs. Working through my days off, breaking any socials plans I might have. And then he has me running hours of lab tests, even after I’ve just come off an eighteen-hour shift. I would never dream of standing in the way of his work, but I need more than that.” She looked down at her hands. “It’s difficult to feel loved, when you matter only when you are useful, and get set aside the rest of the time.”

 

The defeat in her voice, and the rigidness in her posture made Sherlock’s heart clench. An unexpected and puzzling reaction to him. True, they had planned to use as much truth as possible in order to avoid factual errors in their backstory, and he told her he’d follow her lead on how she would relate it, but he hadn’t anticipated the very real sentiment it would elicit. Also unexpected and puzzling, he felt his fingers twitch, and then his arms, in an sudden thought to reach for her. 

 

He should have gone to her right after the phone call, but he wasn’t ready for the conversation that would have to follow.

 

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “You know how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt. I don’t ever say it, because I don’t want to burden you. It was enough to just be there when you needed me. But, part of me has always been...waiting. Waiting for you to get clean. Waiting for you to come back. Waiting for you to  _ see _ me.”

 

He hesitated before asking a question that had plagued him for too long. “And is that why you took up with Tom?” 

 

“Tom being…” Huxley consulted his notes. “The man you were briefly engaged to while you two were seperated?”

 

“Originally,” Molly said, answering them both. “But, I know people think I only stayed with him because I didn’t have you, but nothing could be further from the truth.”

 

“You’re honestly saying you loved him. Not that you were just attracted to him because-”

 

“Oh, don’t say it. I wasn’t blind to the physical similarities between the two of you, but I saw past them. I honestly fell in love with him. You have no idea what it’s like to love someone who sees you as a placeholder. Someone’s second choice. I was very careful to make sure that’s not what he was to me.  But no matter how much I tried to convince him that he wasn’t, I could see it in his eyes that he didn’t believe it. He deserved better than that.” By now tears were running down her face. “So, not only could I not have you. Not having you ended up making it impossible for me to have him, too.”

 

“He offered me something no one else had in a long time. Someone to come home to, to build a home with. There are times when the darker realities of my job overwhelm me, and I feel so broken, so brittle, I’m afraid I might shatter. Sure, he was put off by my work, but he never hesitated to pull me into his arms and just hold me. But you? You’re texting or calling because you need something. That ‘something’ being what I can do, not who I am.  And it’s never because you care in the least that I could use something from you.”

 

She swiped at her tears, clearly irritated at how quickly they came.

 

“So, yes. I let someone else briefly eclipse you in my heart. You’ve never been interested in it, and I won’t apologize for it.”    

 

A heavy silence befell them. 

 

“May I ask you something?” Huxley eventually asked, tone gentle. “Have either of you heard of the Red String of Fate? The Ancient Chinese believed that an invisible thread connects those destined to be lovers, regardless of time, place or circumstances.” He used his pencil to trace an invisible thread between the two of them. “The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. It is the myth on which the concept of soulmates is based.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. 

 

“You don’t agree?” Huxley asked him sharply, face drawn in disapproval.

 

“I am a man of logic and reason. I am not subject to the whims of superstition and fantasy.  And further…” He stopped mid-sentence, as another tear left Molly’s eye and trailed down her cheek. Watching as she smeared it away with her sleeve, he felt a resolve beginning to fracture. 

 

“Molly,” he said, to call her eyes to respond and look at him.  

 

She would not look up.

 

And the longer she resisted, the more he felt compelled to speak. 

 

“Molly, look at me.”

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head and not looking up.  No, she was no longer interested in playing the part in a case. Her tears said, no, she was not interested in playing whatever game this was.  

 

“Molly,” Sherlock’s voice came out in a softness and humility he wasn’t used to. “You think I do not see you.  I do. I simply pretend not to, for both of our sakes. Not only have I rebuffed your affections, but I have exploited them when it suited my needs time and again. I resist anything that might deepen our connection, all the while doing my best to subvert any budding attachment you might have.” 

 

His gaze on her was steady, knowing that they sat on the precipice of something. Something that he was no longer willing to hide from.  But at least his honesty had won the lift of her eyes to his.

 

“I am often a cold and selfish man, with more than a lifetime of regrets. But there is not one that I regret so much that I would erase it from a past that has led me to you.” He watched her eyes well up with new tears. He covered her hand with his. Encouraged when she didn’t immediately pull away, he continued. “I’ve given you no reason to believe me.  You have borne it all with grace, and I have done little to show you any gratitude.” He drew in a breath of finality. “Even if I had an infinite number of lifetimes, I cannot fathom one where I am worthy of you. Not one. So no, I do not believe in soul mates and red threads or any other supernatural romantic forces. I do, however, believe in  _ you _ .”

 

Molly was too stunned to respond.  And as soon as she could open her mouth to try, the phone on Huxley’s desk jarred them all. 

 

With an apologetic look Huxly said, “Apologies, I need to get that.”

 

When he turned away to answer it, Sherlock leaned towards Molly, “When I tell you, run.”

 

Before she could ask, Huxley slammed the receiver down and when he turned back to them there was a pistol in his hand. “Alright, you have five seconds to tell me who the bloody hell you are, because it sure as hell is not Will and Molly Smith.” His voice was rough with anger. Gone was the genial professional, now they faced the madman.

 

Sherlock stood up, moving slightly to shield Molly. “I am a detective investigating the murders of several of your clients.”

 

“Murders? HA!” Despite the wildness of his eyes, he held the pistol steadily pointed at Sherlock. “You think anyone would mourn those bastards? Womanizing cheats, every single one of them! I was easing the suffering of innocent women, whose only crime was in believing that there was any goodness left in their partners, that those men could ever turn a new leaf!”

 

“And what about Julianna Doherty?” Molly asked.

 

“Molly...” Sherlock warned.

 

The name meant something to Huxley, who looked shaken. “I didn’t...that wasn’t…”

 

“She’s in the hospital on suicide watch because of you. They were working things through! Who the hell do you think you are?”

 

When he slowly lowered the gun, Sherlock moved swiftly. He grabbed one of the books off the table and tossed it at Huxley, neatly disarming him and knocking him unconscious at the same time. 

 

About an hour later, when Mycroft’s people swooped in to secure the scene, Sherlock and Molly were bundled into a private car to be driven home.

 

After a moment, Sherlock broke the silence. 

 

“Molly, I would have stood aside and allowed you your happiness with Tom, buried my feelings and never spoken of them.”

 

“Your feelings?” 

 

He sighed, “While you have probably been told that I was under the impression you’d be killed if I didn’t make you say those words...when you had me say them…” He faced her, willing her to see him. “I meant them. I love you, Molly. I have for some time now. What do you need?” He asked. “Tell me.””

  
  


Suddenly, she was reminded of something Mary had told her. 

 

_ “I know after everything you’ve been through, you have every right to hold him at arm’s length and wall your heart off from him,” Her friend’s face held a sort of tiredness and understanding. “You see him more clearly than anyone, but they way he looks at you when you’re not looking...maybe don’t give up on him just yet, hmm?” _

 

They were far from okay. 

 

But maybe this was a start. 

(%)(%)(%)

 


End file.
